


lose it

by eatjamfast



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bromance to Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Wingman Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25688095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eatjamfast/pseuds/eatjamfast
Summary: He'd been chasing Hunk's tail from the moment he met him, and the worst part was Lance was nigh on certain Hunk knew it. Which begged the question: was Hunk stringing him along, or did he have any plans to follow through on those lingering stares and quiet late night phone calls.in which lance pines, hunk has questionable fashion sense, and keith is sick of watching nothing happen between them.
Relationships: Hunk/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 54





	lose it

**Author's Note:**

> me??? writing F2L hance with a side of klance friendship????? groundbreaking. 
> 
> title from lose it by SWMRS

Lance knew, objectively, that gunning for Hunk could ruin his life.

Hunk Garrett was the proverbial glue that held their entire social circle together. Had a problem? Oh, that's ok, Hunk'll sort it. Needed a ride at 3AM because you were too razzed to get in a taxi? No sweats, Hunk's phone was always on loud. And so on.

Everyone had met one another through his weirdly apt social networking skills, and half of them had him to thank for getting the jobs they did when they moved to Arus.

Maybe it because he was just so goddamn _sweet_ that Lance found him so irresistible. He had a heart of solid, twenty-four karat gold but still didn't take any of Lance's shit; balanced him out in all his boundless energy with a steady, grounding presence.

And they had a fantastic friendship, they really did.

Hunk was reliable and fun, he made Lance want to push himself to do better, to _be_ better.

It was just kind of a coincidence that he _also_ made Lance want to get on his knees and beg for a taste of something _more_.

He'd been chasing Hunk's tail from the moment he met him, and the worst part was Lance was nigh on certain Hunk _knew_ it. Which begged the question: was Hunk stringing him along, or did he have any plans to follow through on those lingering stares and quiet late night phone calls.

“Hah, _suck it_ McClain!” Keith cheered around that weird honking laugh that always made an appearance when he'd had one too many ciders.

Lance blinked down at the pool table, and realised he'd managed to pot the black instead of the his last yellow because his mind off and away.

“Fucks sake,” Lance groaned, leaning his cue against the side of the table. “I'm not paying around another round. I don't know why we play here. It's so fucking expensive.”

“We _play_ here because _you_ want to make goo-goo eyes at _Hunk_ ,” Keith said, arching a brow.

Lance sputtered indignantly, but couldn't find the words to defend himself. It was totally true. He was weak for a man in uniform, and Hunk's chef whites just did things to him that a shapeless button up had no fucking right doing.

“Y – yeah, well! You – you're! You're – ”

“Nice comeback,” Keith drawled, “I'm quaking in my boots.”

“Cowboy boots,” Lance muttered under his breath, “Goddamn horse girl looking mother fucker.”

“What was that?” Keith asked loudly, raising his pool cue threateningly.

“You heard me, yee-haw.”

“ _Just_ because my dad is American _doesn't_ mean – ”

“Oh, it really _does mean_ ,” Lance said.

Keith sulked, and Lance left him by the table to get another round in.

Behind the bar, Katie Holt lounged against one of the fridges, flicking her phone screen with a bored expression. She wore a dark green beanie over her mess of ashy hair, huge glasses low on the bridge of her nose. She was one of Lance's best friends, but also one of the most terrifying people he knew. He knew better than to mess with a girl who could hack into his computer faster than he could blink.

“One day Keith really will stab you with one of those things,” she said casually, not looking up from her phone.

“Good. He can put me out of my misery.”

“Just go to the vets, I'm sure they'd take you on.”

“Har, har.”

“I suppose you'll be wanting a drink,” she sighed, slipping her phone back into the front pocket of her dungarees and staring at him like he was a beetle.

“Y'know, Pidge... it _is_ your job to make drinks,” Lance mumbled, fishing for his wallet.

“Whatever you say,” she grunted as she stepped on her very tippy-toes to reach the pint glasses on the top shelf. Sometimes Lance wondered if her co-workers put them all the way up there just to piss her off. They were playing a dangerous game with a very dangerous tiny lady. “I'm not putting a discount on these ones.”

“Seriously, Pidge?” Lance whined, “I worked here for _three years_.”

She fixed him with a serious look, “And when did _you_ make supervisor? Never? And when did _I_ make supervisor? After two months?”

“You're so mean, oh my god.”

“Someone needs to keep you down a peg or two, princess,” she grunted, but her heart wasn't in it. Her bright hazel eyes twinkled with mischief. “I'm just saying, maybe Coran wouldn't have fired you if you didn't keep giving everyone and their second cousin staff discount.”

“I made so many friends doing it, though,” Lance protested, but it was true. Too true. He'd been a lot more laid back when he first arrived in Arus, and got in a lot more trouble because of it. Despite himself, Coran had still given Lance a good enough reference that he could move onto a different bar. Albeit in a significantly dodgier part of town, but Lance liked to think he could hold his own.

Or, Shiro, the bar's manager would puff his impressive chest up behind Lance if someone ever tried it on with him.

Lance loved his life, loved the flexibility of work which gave him the opportunity to see his friends and just enjoy himself. His mother, bless her heart, would always want more for him, but Lance just loved his freedom too much to tether himself down to some boring desk job where he could put his accounting degree to good use.

He passed Katie a tenner over the counter, waving his hand dismissively when she tried to give him his change, and felt his cheeks split into a hapless grin when he caught sight of Hunk turning the corner from the kitchen.

Three plates were stacked up his left arm, steaming and wafting a smell so delicious over to Lance he felt like he was being personally attacked that he couldn't eat it all himself.

“Hunk!” Lance cheered, raising his glasses in celebration of just basking in his glorious presence. Their bromance, specifically, was legendary around these parts, despite Lance's not-so-subtle aspirations for romance.

“ _Lance_! My guy!” Hunk greeted him, equally enthused. He quickly meandered over to a group of girls sat in front of the flat-screen by the doors, offering their plates with a flourish before making his way back to Lance.

“What's the crack, buddy?” Lance grinned, taking a sip out of Keith's drink just to be a dick.

“All good, all good,” Hunk nodded. “Been slow as hell, but I'm like ninety percent sure it's 'cause Pidge keeps scaring off the customers.”

“ _Hey_.”

“What else is new,” said Lance.

“ _Kidding_!” Hunk laughed, raising his palms flat-up in defence as Pidge brandished a pair of ice tongs threateningly at him.

“You're lucky you're the only one I trust to feed me,” she groused. “I don't trust Sal.”

“He's not so bad,” Lance hedged.

“ _You're_ the one that hired him,” she said like that explained everything. “Never trust a man who thinks it's alright to only button his shirt up to the belly button.”

Lance's hand fluttered self-consciously to where his navy-button up exposed the dip between his pectorals, flushing. He knew a dig when he heard one. _As if_ he needed fashion advice from someone who thought wearing Birkenstocks and socks was a personality trait.

“Lance!” Keith yelled from the pool table, “I'm _thirsty_.”

Hunk rolled his eyes, but waved a friendly hand at Keith, who shook his pool cue in the air by way of greeting.

“Duty calls,” Lance offered the best salute he could with his hands full as he departed.

“Just don't feed it after midnight!” Pidge hollered after him.

Keith eyed his drink suspiciously when Lance gave it to him, but it didn't look like he realised Lance had drank from it. Pidge was notorious for giving people short measures, so it wasn't a stretch for the cider to be an inch below the pint line. Lance smirked to himself.

Keith took a sip, and fixed Lance with a knowing look.

“I know you're gay for Hunk,” Keith said.

“I'm not gay for Hunk,” Lance lied.

“You're a _little_ bit gay for Hunk.”

“I'm a _lot_ a bit gay for Hunk,” Lance relented, “but that doesn't mean I'm actually going to try make him gay for me.”

“He's bi isn't he?” Keith squinted at him, “He stares at your ass more than you do in the mirror. And that's saying something.”

“I'm not actually as vain as you think I am, cowboy,” Lance quipped.

“Our bathroom looks like the skincare isle at Superdrug,” Keith said, “I only have a quarter of the top shelf.”

“You're two years too late to ask for the full shelf now,” Lance said. “I don't see your point.”

“My point was supposed to be you should just ask him out already!”

“It would be so weird, though,” Lance whined. “We've been friends for years, I don't wanna make him uncomfortable.”

“You both actually kiss each other when you're drunk,” Keith pointed out. “It's not exactly a stretch to consider you might do it sober.”

“It's a _friend_ thing,” Lance protested weakly. He didn't really have a leg to stand on, there.

“Would you kiss _me_ , drunk?” Keith asked, faintly horrified.

“Oh, my god. No way. _Gross_.”

“Case in point.”

Lance mulled it over, considering Keith's words. He kind of had a point. They did have a propensity for making out when they were three jeagers deep, but it didn't _mean_ anything. It was usually just for show, a deeper expression of friendship in a way they didn't share with any one else and it was totally normal.

… It wasn't normal.

Not one bit.

Keith's mouth curled into a self-satisfied smile, the way it always did when he won an argument. Although Lance resented him for it, he was relieved for his support despite himself.

He didn't want Hunk to be indiscriminate fuck though, he wanted him to be an indiscriminate _love_.

But that was a very huge word, with a lot of weight behind it and Lance loved Hunk, he loved him a lot. He just knew he wasn't _in_ love with Hunk. How _could_ he know that, until they really gave a romantic relationship a shot?

Lance wasn't much good at relationships, had a long line of lovers behind him in a trail of broken hearts to prove it. He knew how to _flirt_ , to navigate the lack of complexities in a fling. Commitment? That was a whole other kettle of fish, and he didn't have any inclination towards fucking around with Hunk. Not in a meaningless way.

Boundlessly expressing what was possible the greatest gift a person could give was a vaguely terrifying notion, especially when it involved someone like _Hunk_.

*

Hunk swung by the bar in the afternoon of the next day, ordered an oat milk hazelnut mocha which Lance resented him for a _teeeeeny_ bit because he _hated_ using the coffee machine, and perched himself on the table closest to the counter, next to the bookshelf laden with battered board games.

That was infamously Hunk's Table™ , and now nearly every staff member eyed people up suspiciously when the sat in on it when Hunk came into the bar, too. It seemed wrong, somehow, when anyone other than Hunk and his battered laptop took up space on it.

Lance watched him type furiously at the keyboard when he placed the coffee next to him, and Hunk switched between messaging someone on his phone and whatever he was writing. His ears were a bit pink when he checked the newest text, picking it up faster than the notification noise had a chance to fade out.

Lance didn't wanna toot his own trumpet or anything, but he had a sneaking suspicion Hunk was texting someone about him. And his spidey-senses weren't usually off the mark, so he grinned mischievously when they met eyes.

“Working hard, or hardly working?” Lance asked, wiggling his brows.

Hunk snorted, finally giving his worn-down keyboard a break. “Just doing some updates for the blog.”

Hunk ran a food blog in his spare time. One of those you got linked to through pretty pictures on twitter, where you had to scroll through a pseudo-diary entry to get to the recipe that only stay at home mums bothered to read. Stay at home mums, and _Lance_.

“When you gunna dedicate your first cookbook to me, bro?” Lance sighed wistfully, “Man, I could go for some of your fa'apapa right now.”

“Really?” Hunk asked, looking up at him with pretty brown eyes that sparkled happily. “I didn't know you liked it that much.”

“Uh. Duh. It's delicious,” Lance said.

“I – I'll, um. Make you some. Soon.”

“Seriously? Buddy, you are the love of my life!” Lance said.

“Light of my stars!” Hunk cheered, shaking his fist in the air dramatically.

Lance laughed, raising his voice, “The wave of my seas!”

“The moon of – ”

“I am _trying_ ,” Shiro interrupted them smoothly, with an amused smile, “To concentrate here, guys.”

Shiro was tucked away in the tiny office behind the coffee machine, where he kind of had to _fold_ his giant body like a pretzel to fit at the low-rise desk. He had poked his head around the corner, and fixed his attempt at a stern gaze on Lance.

“Yessir,” Lance stood to attention, clicking his heels.

“ _No_ respect here,” Shiro grumbled, sliding back into the rickety office chair.

Lance had always appreciated well-dressed people, being someone who took pride in fashion himself it was only natural.

Not in the conventional sense, mind. But well-dressed nonetheless.

Hunk had this sort of aggressively unique style that Lance struggled to pin down, and couldn't wrap his head around how the dude managed to teeter on that fine line between supremely lame and confidently unique.

Which might have been okay, but lately Hunk had this like. _Thing_. For khaki pocket vests.

That, and his _crocs_? It kind of fucked Lance up a bit because he was so hot. So, so hot. The vests could have been cool, maybe. They were sold in all the hipster shops, and you could definitely find a way to style them with sick chains and a funky tee but Hunk seemed to do everything in his power to make them look as weird as possible.

Lance wanted to believe, he truly did, that Hunk made it work.

Today, he wore black and white stripey socks pulled up high on his wide calves so they were intentionally visible under his artfully ripped ankle-length mom jeans. So Lance was forced to ponder the question, how could someone who'd put that much effort into showing off his socks wear a pair of grubby yellow crocs that Lance was almost certain did not start out that colour when he first bought them.

And then the t-shirt.

There were a million words that could be said about a t-shirt, but for _that_ one? Lance had nothing. _Nada_. He couldn't describe it for the life of him. Threadbare, white, and suspiciously well-fitting, it depicted a family of fucking _killer whales_ swimming through a sea-setting framed by snow-capped mountains. It was incomprehensible to Lance where he could even find a shirt like that, let alone like it enough to _wear_ it.

But Hunk had a particular proclivity for managing to dig out the most hideous things from the dark corners of Oxfam.

Lance glanced down at his own pristine white Nikes surreptitiously, wondering if Hunk would ever let Lance pick through his wardrobe to see if there were any other monstrosities he hadn't seen before, lurking in the deep dark depths. If the bootleg Simpsons shirt he was wearing last week was anything to go by, the answer was yes and also: was Lance really willing to subject himself to that?

“You into whales at the moment?” Lance blurted out, stupidly.

Hunk looked up from his laptop again, then down at his shirt like he forgot it was there. He nodded enthusiastically.

“Yeah, dude! Allura finally paid for us to get cable, and I can't stop watching nature documentaries,” he told Lance, and Lance's heart swelled up three sizes. “I even started giving to this charity last week that's trying to stop the captivity stuff.”

Lance blinked, dazzled by his bright smile.

This was what he adored about Hunk – his boundless curiosity and desire to help.

“You definitely watched Free Willy as a kid,” Lance joked.

“Yeah, I probably still watch it, like, once a week,” Hunk replied, and Lance laughed. But then he faltered, because Hunk was just smiling politely because apparently he wasn't kidding.

“Once a week?” Lance said slowly.

“Yeah. I like it.”

“Dude, there is no way you watch Free Willy once a week,” Lance shook his head, still convinced he was just dragging out the joke longer than was strictly necessary.

Hunk just looked nonplussed, smiling his easy smile. “Duh. I said _probably_. I'm pretty sure I haven't watched it every week ever.”

“So what do you watch instead?” Lance pressed, staring at him. He marvelled at the fact they'd never actually discussed media consumption habits before. There was always something more to learn, no matter how long you'd been friends with someone. He continued, “Like, the weeks you don't watch Free Willy?”

Confused, Hunk squinted at him. “I don't?”

“You don't, what?”

“I don't watch films,” Hunk reiterated.

Lance fumbled with the cocktail shaker he'd been polishing since they started chatting, and set it down firmly on the countertop.

“I'm gonna lose it,” Lance said gleefully. “So you're telling me, hands up, scouts honour, brownie promise, that the only film you ever watch is Free Willy?”

Hunk hesitated, like he was considering lying about it in the face of how delighted Lance was over what was probably, to him, just a mundane aspect of his life, before he settled on a reluctant, “Yea.”

“Who _hurt_ you?”

“It's a good film!” Hunk said defensively, “It's touching!”

“T – touching – you – no. Hunk. No. It's Free Willy,” Lance sputtered, “There are so many other cinematic masterpieces out there that you're not giving a chance!”

“I've watched other films, Lance,” Hunk rolled his eyes.

“Oh yeah? Name one.”

Hunk floundered, “Uh. That old cowboy film with the train. Where they see those guys getting killed, and he has to smuggle a prisoner or something. It has Christian Bale in it.”

“You mean... the _3:10 to Yuma_ remake?” Lance was fighting back laughter harder than he'd ever had to before. Being Keith's best friend, Lance was inevitably well-versed in all things cowboy after living with him for the past two years straight. Where Lance had gone through an intense space phase at thirteen, Keith confessed to have erred towards anything and everything to do with cowboys. He still refused to let Lance call it his horse girl phase, looking like he was in physical pain whenever it was brought up.

“Yeah!” Hunk nodded, “Yeah, that one! Keith made me watch it last year.”

“So the last time... the last time you watched anything other than Free Willy was _last year_?”

“What can I say,” he shrugged, “I'm an uncultured swine.”

“You're probably the most cultured person I know. But, like. I need to, as my god-given best friend right, offer you a decent film education as soon as possible.”

“I don't want to watch die-hard.”

Lance gasped, clutching his chest, and almost burst out laughing when he heard Shiro call from the office, “Die-Hard is a good film.”

Hunk stifled his own laugher with a hand over his mouth, shaking, and Lance had to bite his lip to hold back. Somehow, the thought of Shiro coming home from a busy day at work, getting into his fluffy onesie they all knew he wore, and putting on his Die-Hard box set was literally the funniest thing he had ever heard.

He had to turn away from Hunk, who's hysterics were threatening to get Lance fired.

It was moments like this, that made him second-guess his hopes and wants for something more with Hunk. They had it so good already, why would he try to fuck it up at all?

*

Lance placed the offending item on Keith's windowsill.

He would despise it with his entire being, but he was secretly a big softie and for some unknown reason he kept all the charity shop ornaments that Lance forced upon his person.

His bookshelf was littered with creepy porcelain bo-peeps and weird mini teapots shaped like country cottages. It was completely at odds with his charcoal grey walls and black bedspread.

This was, by far, the ugliest Lance had ever bought.

It was a mini terracotta plaque, with gaudy moulding around the edge shaped like ivy leaves. The centre scene, which Lance was wildly delighted at the idea of someone sitting down and taking time in their life to carve out, was of two chubby little cherubs holding a basket of fruit between them.

As a whole, it would be an anathema to Keith. He would hate it with every fibre of his being, even as he inevitably propped it up against his disturbingly extensive collection of vampire fiction.

“Lance.”

Right on cue.

“I got you a present.”

“I can see that. I'm going to throw it out the window.”

“No, you _won't_. I spent a whole one pound fifty on it, and it's a _gift_.”

“It's cursed.”

“It is not cursed, you ingrate! It's fine art!”

Keith stared at the plaque with a grimace, shaking his head. “It might be the worst thing in the entire world.”

“Stop being such a drama queen,” Lance said, blowing him a kiss before shimmying into the kitchen and reaching for his phone.

Lance:

_Lmao keet HATES it_

_but saw him put it on the top shelf of his bookcase 2 mins later I think he forgives_

Hunk:

_he might forgive_

_but he will never forget_

Lance:

_if u tryin to talk me out of giving him more nicnacs I am more than happy to start giving them 2 u instead_

Hunk:

_I would rather eat glass_

Lance:

_that's meeeaaaaan :---( no one has an eye for antiques like me_

Hunk:

_is it an antique if its from a grandmas house that hasn't been decorated since the 70s?_

Lance:

_Vintage!!!!!!!! im gunna start selling them as earrings on depop. The lesbians will come flocking_

Hunk:

_i'd like to see you try tell pidge that lol_

Lance:

_she would totally wear my grandma ornament earrings_

Hunk just responded with an eye-roll emoji – a _shut up Lance_ , if he'd ever seen one.

Listening to Keith grumble in the other room, Lance's fingers hovered over the keyboard, and he bit his lip.

Lance:

_so when do u wanna start your movie education then_

Hunk:

_have an allura-free house on thursday?_

Allura-free, Allura-free, _Allura-free._

The words conked around in his head, bouncing off his skull as he tried to process the implication behind the words.

Hunk had never had an issue with Lance coming over when Allura was there before, had never in all their years of friendship expressed he felt a specific need to be alone with Lance.

Gulping, he typed out his reply.

Lance:

_it's a date x_

Hunk:

_sure is xx_

*

Thursday rolled around, finally.

He'd seen Hunk since the texts, had texted him, too. Hunk hadn't really acted any different around him, save for the moments Lance felt eyes raking over him when he was busy pretending he was doing anything else other than checking Hunk out.

A shower was first on his checklist when he finished work.

He wasn't naïve.

Lance knew exactly what it meant, what he was agreeing to, by going to Hunk's tonight. He didn't smell great, not after a gruelling lunchtime rush shaking up all manner of potent cocktails for the local students and ladies of leisure.

He wanted to smell minty fresh, have his hair perfectly quaffed so it could be perfectly dishevelled later that night, and most of all he wanted to give himself the opportunity to jack off beforehand.

Lance had a feeling Hunk wouldn't let him last long anyway, but he definitely didn't wanna be coming in his pants in five seconds flat as soon as they got hands on one another.

This had been a painfully long time coming, and Lance couldn't even be bothered to keep up the pretence he was bringing a slightly decent DVD over with him, and just swiped the first one he saw on the shelf as he booked it out the door.

*

Every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire.

The barest space between their thighs felt like a million miles away and the closest they'd ever been all at one; it made his heart stutter in his chest, a flush rose high on his cheeks while he pretended to concentrate on the TV.

His lungs weren't quite cooperating in the whole breathing thing, and he was already half hard just thinking about how easy it would be to swing his leg over and be in a position where he could push himself against Hunk. Just relieve that pressure building up in his veins for a _second_.

Lance had the distinct feeling that Hunk was getting a little hot under the collar too, that it wasn't just Lance who was getting this worked up. His long fingers kept twitching where they rested innocuously atop his knees, clenching ever so slightly in a way that made Lance dizzy. It was one of those innate senses most people had; just knowing when the person next to you also had their heart beating a fervent tattoo against their ribcage. He could feel the heat rising off Hunk's skin. It made his entire body _itch_.

They weren't touching. They were even _looking_ at one another, which was wrong for a thousand different reasons because Lance was fairly sure that instead of pressing his tongue against his teeth to keep the shaky breath from escaping him, he should be pressing it between Hunk's lips.

He looked to the side casually from under his lashes, and watched the way Hunk worried at his bottom lip, completely mesmerised. He wanted those teeth at his _throat_.

Lance blinked the stars out of his eyes.

It suddenly occurred to him that he wasn't going to get anything he wanted – and oh, he wanted. So, so badly – by just sitting there like a lump.

He licked his lips nervously, trembling in a way that was very unlike him, and reached up to push his fingertips against Hunk's soft jawline. Hunk's breath stuttered, and he let his head be turned to face Lance. His eyes were dark, lids heavy.

Hunk's mouth parted, a quiet sigh escaping him when Lance pressed their lips together and finally... finally Lance had him where he wanted him.

The sound of their kisses was wet and intimate in the quiet of the living room, it eclipsed the low drone of the movie, and Lance's head was filled with it. He groaned when Hunk swiped his tongue over the swell of his bottom lip, before pushing deliciously in.

Lance met Hunk eagerly, flicking the tip of his tongue against the side of Hunk's, slicking them together and holy fuck. Holy fuck that was good. That was better than good.

Just like he'd been daydreaming of, he suddenly found himself landing heavily in Hunk's lap as huge hands wrapped around his thighs and lifted him. He almost choked on his own spit when they squeezed his ass hard, massaging briefly before dragging sensually up and over his legs until they were caressing his inner thigh.

It was all Lance could do not to come in his pants right there and then. This was a whole different ball park to the sloppy drunken kisses that they'd shared. Lance was fully grounded in the present, aware of every single thing Hunk was doing to him.

And Hunk knew exactly which buttons to push to get him going.

Lance could feel how fucking wet his pants were, dick straining against his jeans just from some light making out. He felt like a teenager again, flushing as he ducked his head down to scrape his teeth, ever so gently, against Hunk's earlobe. They clinked against his earrings, and Hunk twitched in his arms.

“S – shit, Lance,” he laughed, breathless.

Lance poked his tongue out between his teeth, smiling impishly as he fluttered his eyelashes, the picture of innocence.

“You're something else,” Hunk told him.

“Now, is that a good thing? Or a bad thing?” Lance drawled, already knowing the answer. He got everything he needed to know from the way Hunk's huge hands skated over his back to his ass, then up again.

“What...” Hunk's voice cracked adorably, and he cleared his throat. “What do you wanna do?”

Lance hesitated for just a second, weighing his options. Then, he pressed a bold hand to where Hunk was half-hard in his jeans.

He appreciated that Hunk was inclined to ask. That was sweet. A bit too sweet for the way Lance's brain was spiralling away until all he could think was –

“I want you to bend me over the back of this chair, and fuck me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Hunk rasped, before he surged forwards. They were kissing again, but this time it was harder, faster, wetter. Lance's teeth clacked awkwardly against Hunk's when he ground his hips down desperately, but Hunk didn't seem to give a shit. He just groaned, and bit down on Lance's bottom lip, chasing away the sting with a gentle brush of his lips.

Hunk broke away, pressing their foreheads together so he could watch Lance shamelessly fucking dry hump his hardon with blown-out pupils.

“This is so fucking hot.”

Lance just panted in response, lost in the feeling.

“I need to get some lube, baby,” Hunk whispered against his lips, clearly reaching the end of his tether watching Lance fuck himself down onto his lap like that.

Lance liked seeing it – that edge to his sweet smile that promised he was anything but sweet in bed once he lost control.

Hunk wriggled out from under Lance, and when he stood up, he looked down at him. Licking his lips, his hands shot out and he raked his fingernails over Lance's scalp, gripping the hair at the base of his skull tightly.

Hunk leaned forwards, lips ghosting over the shell of Lance's ear as he whispered, “Don't touch yourself while I'm gone.”

Lance whimpered, nodding. Like he could argue with that.

He scooted so he was sat on the edge of the sofa, turning to watch Hunk dash up the stairs two and a time with a grin. His tummy was in knots, twisting this way and that as he pondered how Hunk would have him. Would he finger him leisurely, taking his time? Would it be a rush of spit and fingers and tongues until the only thing on both of their minds was Hunk just getting inside?

Turns out, he didn't have to daydream for that long, because Hunk returned triumphant with a bottle in his hand, and a dark look in his eyes.

He grabbed Lance's wrist, reeling him in until their bodies were flush. He leaned down and kissed him, hungry for it. He thrust his tongue into Lance's mouth, slow and sensual. Lance hooked his arms up around Hunk's neck, leaning hard into their embrace with a low moan.

The pressure of Hunk's fingers still wrapped around his wrist was edging along that delicious line of pain-pleasure, only softened by his thumb stroking his palm.

“I want you, so bad,” Lance murmured, relishing the shudder Hunk gave him in response. He slipped a thick thigh between Lance's legs, and he just bore down on it helplessly.

“Already?” Hunk pouted, “I wanted to play some more.”

“We can play another time, big guy,” Lance gave him his best puppy dog eyes. “Please.”

“Alright, gorgeous,” Hunk said after a beat. He'd clearly decided he wasn't in favour of dragging this out – they'd both been hungry for it for _years_. “Gunna make you see stars.”

He led Lance around to the back of sofa, and jerked his chin towards it.

Lance scrambled to comply. He yanked off his shirt, and made quick work of his jeans before draping himself over it and angling his back into a tempting arch. He knew he looked good.

Apparently Hunk agreed if the way he hissed through his teeth was anything to go by.

He curved his hands over Lance's ass, squeezing appreciatively, and massaged him for a few seconds before reaching around to palm against Lance's cock. He was almost embarrassingly hard, but didn't care because Hunk's clever fingers curled around his length, squeezing possessively, and it was like. The hottest thing in the whole world.

“Oh, god,” Lance moaned loudly, tummy sucking in with pleasure.

Hunk's other hand gripped the back of his neck, forcing his face into the pillows, holding him down as his fingers plucked at the waistband of Lance's briefs, dipping curiously under it until Lance keened at the first touch of skin-against-skin.

It was kind of dry where Hunk took him in hand, but Lance didn't have the presence of mind to give a shit. The lube sat innocently next to his head, and Lance was so fucking excited to have a dick inside him. Like, _ridiculously_ excited.

He could hear Hunk's breath whispering against his ear, and when he gritted out, “Can I eat you out?” there was nothing Lance could do but nod fervently and whine for it.

His briefs were yanked down to his ankles in a flash, and Lance clumsily unhooked one of his feet out of them so he could spread his legs, presenting himself to Hunk in a way he'd probably feel humiliated about later.

“ _Goddamn_ ,” Hunk breathed, releasing his grasp on Lance's neck to squat behind him.

He licked a wet stripe all the way from Lance's balls, and up the cleft of his ass. It was gross, it was messy, it was _fantastic_.

There wasn't time to even fucking breathe when Hunk flicked his tongue expertly against him, laving him in generous, sloppy curls of his tongue. He seemed content to just lap at him for the time being, and Lance was beside himself. It felt so different from anyone else, mostly because Lance had always been the one to ask for this. No one had ever offered this to him before.

Hunk fucking _loved_ eating ass, and it _showed_.

He kept making this obscene slurping noises, clearly drooling when he finally pressed _in_ , twisting his tongue in a way that made Lance shout, dizzy with want, scrambling for purchase on the cushions.

Hunk thrust his tongue for a few beats, then licked into him lovingly, alternating between the two in an unrelenting rhythm.

Lance didn't even notice Hunk had swiped the lube until he felt a slick finger pressing curiously against his hole, teasing the tight rim before pushing all the way up to the first knuckle, dragging it out again almost immediately until he set a hard pace that yanked Lance into a sensate reality. It grounded him against the softness of Hunk's tongue, and his eyes rolled back into his head, baring down on him.

It wasn't long before he was relaxing into the movements, flexing his hips down onto Hunk's hand and grinding hard when he had a second finger stuffing him full.

Hunk slicked his tongue expertly alongside his thrusting fingers, and it forced high peaks of sound into Lance's every gasp, until he was so noisy he felt Hunk laughed against his ass. He drew his tongue away, and it came with a wet noise that was going to haunt Lance's dream for the rest of his fucking life.

“You sound so pretty, Lance,” Hunk groaned, rolling his forehead against the swell of his ass. “Can't believe we never did this sooner.”

Lance gasped on a particularly claiming thrust of his fingers, arching his back into the feeling, “Wh – who's fault is _that_? I've not exactly been – _ah, fuck, right there_ – subtle!”

Hunk's fingers had started building a steady friction against Lance's prostate, and the sensations built and built and built in a breathtaking way.

“I've wanted you so bad,” Hunk told him by way of reply, and his voice cracked low on a moan when Lance stared bouncing down onto his fingers in earnest, demanding more from him. He wanted another finger, he wanted Hunk's tongue back on him, he wanted Hunk's cock in him.

He lost himself in the feelings, inconsolable as Hunk slicked his fingers up again and pressed back inside with three fingers. The stretch was acute, but not painful. Lance knew this would be nothing compared to how overwhelmed he'd feel when he finally had Hunk's cock inside him.

It wasn't long before he was getting way too keyed up to continue getting fingered, and he let Hunk know as much around a garbled moan.

The crinkle of the condom being opened piqued his curiosity and his excitement. He threw a flirtatious look over this shoulder, licking his lips with a groan as he watched Hunk take his fat cock in hand and roll the condom over it, wrapper discarded carelessly on the floor at their feet.

“You want this?” Hunk asked, voice low. He rested his thick length against Lance's ass heavily, gripping the base of it. It looked like everything Lance wanted, in the past, present and future.

“ _Yes_ ,” Lance hissed, tipping his head down. He felt overwhelmed with how much he wanted it.

“I wanna come inside you,” Hunk told him, “I want _you_ to come while I'm inside you.”

“Well, fucking get _on_ with it then!”

Hunk laughed, “Alright, _alright_.”

And then he was inside Lance. _Finally_.

Not to jog out any cliches or anything, but with each gentle roll of his hips until they were pressed flush together was something Lance could feeling his fucking throat. Hunk was big. Like, almost obscenely big and now Lance was feeling a little self-conscious kind of big.

“O – oh, _fuck_ ,” Lance managed when Hunk thrust experimentally, dragging across all the right places inside of Lance. It was a teasing sort of pleasure – one that promised with every subsequent press inside it would build until he'd have to blink the stars from his eyes.

Hunk sighed, rocking his hips both teasing and considerate as Lance adjusted to the stretch.

“Good?” he asked Lance, as if it could be anything other than exactly that.

“Better – ” Lance started, but his voice cracked low on a whine when Hunk pressed back in on a delicious grind, “ _Better_ than good.”

“You're amazing,” Hunk told him.

The ache of it all slipped away from uncomfortable, and more so into the territory of _more please now thanks._ Lance bounced back experimentally, delighting in the stuttered gasp it dragged out of Hunk, so he did it again. And again. And again.

Until they were moving together in the kind of synchronicity Lance had never experienced with _anyone_ before. There was barely any awkward fumbling, only a mutual understanding of how much higher they wanted to climb together and exactly how they could get there.

It felt like barely any time had passed at all before heat coiled low and heavy in Lance's body, curling up from the very tips of his toes and all the way up to his tummy until he was begging Hunk to have a hand on him. His cries choked out of him high on every exhale, and Hunk responded with broken moans of his own.

The first pass of his calloused palm over Lance's cock was enough, and his back snapped into a punishing arch on itself as he came in thick stripes over Hunk's fingers.

He felt like he was fucking floating, and his body buzzed with a sleepy sort of post-coital bliss. Not so much he couldn't wrangle his sex-stupid brain to clench down on Hunk. Hard.

Hunk cried out weakly, pounding him through the tightness until his came in aborted jerks of his hips.

He slumped down over Lance's back, forehead pressed into the sweat-stick skin at the nape of his neck, panting heavily.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Lance said.

“Holy shit,” Hunk echoed weakly, wincing sympathetically at Lance's flinch when he finally pulled out.

He gently coaxed Lance to his feet proper, and eased him over to the other side of the sofa. They collapsed onto one another, breathing still ragged but bodies lax and sated. There were a million thoughts racing through Lance's head, and every single one caught on the tip of his tongue.

Just when he thought he'd mustered up the courage to say something, Hunk beat him to it.

“Was that okay?” Hunk asked nervously, and from where Lance's head was resting against the soft swell of his chest he could feel his heart pounding a nervous staccato against his ribcage.

Lance hummed happily, “You're the best. It was so fucking good, Hunk. Dude, you are like – I dunno. You're just. So great.”

Not as eloquent as Lance would have liked to put it, but it'd have to do it in a pinch. It clearly settled something disquiet inside of Hunk, because his body immediately relaxed where Lance hadn't even realised it was tensed up.

“And – uh. Um. Maybe we can order some take out?” Lance asked, “Like, as a date? Right now?”

“Don't people usually go out to eat for dates?” Hunk teased, pressing a soft kiss to Lance's forehead.

“I don't care where we go, or what we do,” Lance said seriously. “I just know I wanna... I wanna do it all with you.”

It was the _most_ honest he'd ever been with Hunk, and for the first time since they'd met, Lance didn't feel scared of it. He had the distinct feeling Hunk needed to know where they stood as much as Lance did.

“Pizza date?” Hunk murmured into Lance's hair.

“Pizza date – but a gay one. No more friend bullshit, okay? Sick of that song now,” Lance laughed, squirming until he'd wriggled out of Hunk's grasp and they were face-to-face.

“Maybe a little friend bullshit,” Hunk countered, and Lance's heart sank before he finished,“But with a little bit of boy at the start of it.”

“You suck.”

“I know. You don't actually _know_ how well I _suck_.”

Lance sputtered indignantly, before clambering back into his lap with a goofy grin, “I think you need to show me what I've been missing for the past few years, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> also the free willy reference is there for exactly what u think it is there as a reference to. i have a shit sense of humour.


End file.
